The Wrong Time
by LanisFanFiction
Summary: SEQUEL TO 'THE RIGHT PRICE': Where House’s aim is perfect, Chase’s reflexes are sharp, and Wilson’s timing is impeccable. Or was it? Slash, ChaseWilson


Chase stormed up the corridor, flung the glass door open to House's office and stepped inside. All he offered at first was a sharp glare in House's direction as his hands went to his hips, and somewhat of a tense electricity bubbled in the air.

House looked up and rolled his eyes. "I already told you," he said, gesturing with his red coffee mug. "I'm not telling you how loud he screamed or how much he begged me for more. You had your chance and you chose to throw a tanty instead. Your loss, big boy. Although, he gives you a run for your money in _that_ area, too."

"Where do you get off hinting to Cuddy that I groped a patient?!" Chase demanded, flinging a hand in the air for emphasis. "Are you ever going to get sick of making my life hell?"

House pretended to consider the question seriously. "Mmm, nope." He took a swallow of coffee, watching Chase over the rim. "Do you know your ears twitch when you're pissed? Do you know Wilson's… never mind," he trailed off with a smirk.

Chase didn't react. "I want a consult over the patient. Or more particularly, I want to know why you're sabotaging my involvement in the differential left, right, and centre," he stated, not moving from where he was planted in House's doorway. "Is this Pick on Chase Week? Oh wait!" he said with a dry laugh. "That's every week, isn't it? What is it, House? Still pissed I was honing in on your territory with Wilson?"

"Do you call him that when you're shagging him?" House asked with an air of mocking curiosity. He picked up his oversized tennis ball and leant back, tossing it back and forth between his hands. It was obvious he was already bored with Chase's presence.

"Do you?" Chase bit back, watching the ball with irritation.

House whistled. "Nice save," he commented. "I'm not the vocal type in the sack. I hear you are, though." He cleared his throat. "_Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… more… oh yeah, right there, baby…. Yes! Hmmm… don't stop… don't stop!_"

Chase had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself saying something he would really regret, or worse, storming over and finally smacking House in the face like he had wanted to ever since House offered him the same treatment months ago. He spun to leave, his lab coat flicking out behind him from the force of the turn.

"Chase,_catch_!" House launched the tennis ball roughly in Chase's direction. What followed all happened in the blink of an eye, but it was definitely one of those corny Hollywood movie moments that would've been run on slow-mo if it had been an action film. Chase reflexively ducked to the left rather than making a stupid effort to catch what couldn't be caught. Neither expected Wilson to have come up behind Chase in the doorway _right at that moment_, and before House had a chance to shriek a warning at his friend, the ball caught Wilson firmly in the face between the eyes, causing him to stumble backwards. He tripped over his feet from the force, cracked his head on the door jamb, and then crumpled in an unconscious heap in the doorway.

There was a moment of stunned silence where House and Chase just both gaped at Wilson on the floor. "James!" Chase screeched, dropping to his knees and pressing his fingers to Wilson's throat to check for a pulse. "James, it's Robert, can you hear me?" he asked clearly.

House limped over, not willing to admit that the feeling in his gut was guilt. More like just bad chicken from cafeteria. That was it. "You called him James," he said pointing accusingly.

"It's his name, you wanker!" Chase spat, pulling his lab coat off and balling it up. He shifted Wilson carefully so he was lying on his side with his head on the lab coat.

"It means you're shagging. You told me you'd split," House said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You both told me that. In fact, I heard it was an extremely messy split and I'm still distraught I didn't catch it on the webcam in Wilson's office."

Chase kept his eyes trained down on Wilson. "Yeah, _we're shagging_ is the more sound explanation for using his given name as opposed to the much more inane explanation that he could have concussion and I'm trying to gain a response off him! Well, bugger me, I actually have a medical degree. Why would I possibly use that when I could be whipping his jocks off and sucking him off for your evidential benefit?"

"Big fat liar!" House accused petulantly.

"Big fat arsehole," Chase tossed back.

It was right at this point that Cuddy seemed to materialise out of nowhere, high heels rapidly clicking up the hallway as she swooped on the kindergarten class in lab coats. Well, two had lab coats. One had an unironed shirt and a cane that had a high risk of being lodged in unfortunate places at any moment. "_What_ is going on here?" she demanded, stooping down to Chase's level to see to Wilson.

"He started it," House offered, pointing to Chase.

Cuddy stared up at him with a sheer exasperated don't-make-me-kill-you look. "You maimed Wilson because you lost a _pissing contest_ with your employee? What's next? Putting him in a coma when Chase suggests Lupus in a differential?"

"It's never Lupus," Chase jumped in and earned two identical you're-an-idiot glares.

"How do you even know it's _my_ fault?" House asked, nose in the air. "How do you know he didn't… trip?"

Cuddy picked up the discarded tennis ball from where is had settled beside Wilson's hip and threw it at House with such force that it got him firmly in the groin, causing him to double over with a whimpered moan. "Now who's tripping?" she snapped.

As House was still clutching his groin in an effort to avoid bits falling off from the sheer burning pain there now, Wilson started to come-to with a deep groan. He put his hand to his head and swore harshly as he became more aware of the thick throb emanating from his forehead to the back of his neck.

Chase put his hand on Wilson's shoulder and went to say something comforting to the oncologist, but was cut off by Cuddy. "Wilson, can you hear me?" she asked, leaning over him in his line of sight to check his eyes with a penlight she'd extracted from her pocket.

"Yes, and with all due respect, please shut up," Wilson moaned, putting a hand over his eyes. "Too loud… bright…"

"Can you tell me your full name?" Cuddy prompted, dropping the penlight back into her coat pocket once satisfied Wilson's pupils were equal and reactive.

"House," Wilson growled, peering through his fingers with a deep frown.

Cuddy glanced over at House, who was still doubled over and apparently oblivious to anything but the appendage between his legs. "No, you're-,"

Wilson growled again, this time with a huff of aggravation. "Yeah, Wilson. James Evan Wilson. Where's House?" He fought against Cuddy's grip on his arm and struggled into a sitting position. Mistake. His head gave one single and sharp warning throb before nausea swelled up inside him. In an effort to turn away from Cuddy (couldn't possibly risk the Monolos and subsequent sacking from their destruction), Wilson shifted, not realising there was another person on his other side and promptly vomited extensively all over Chase's legs.

There was two beats of a pause before, behind them, House burst out laughing, managing to relinquish his grip on himself to point at Chase through his hilarity.

Chase targeted a glare in House's direction, but it was the only reaction he exhibited before he started to worriedly rub Wilson's back. Cuddy stood up and stalked over to the door, flagging down a passing nurse and demanding they bring a wheelchair to House's office immediately. The she spun around, her whirling lab coat having much more poise and purpose than Chase's earlier, and went over to House, jabbing him sharply in the chest with her perfectly manicured finger. "You're going to take Wilson down to the clinic and dress his head, _then_ you're going to plant your arse in that exam room and fulfil clinic duty for five," she stated with an emphasising nod.

"_Hours?!_" House gasped in horror.

"Days." Cuddy flicked her hair over her shoulder. "And you're going to wash Chase's lab coat and trousers. By hand."

House looked over Cuddy's shoulder to the Aussie, his expression completely appalled that the suggestion was even made. At some point, Wilson, in his groggy concussed state, had leant in against Chase, who was still applying firm rubs to his back. House flung his finger out in another accusatory point. "You're shagging! You're so shagging that's practically foreplay!"

"God, make it stop," Wilson moaned, clutching his head.

Chase looked up at Cuddy. "I'll take him home," he offered. "He can't stay at work like this. It's concussion, no doubt. He shouldn't be alone, either."

"He doesn't have a home. He has a hotel room," House huffed. "What's it like being a two-bit hooker knocking on a hotel room door night after night, wombat? Though if anyone can pull fishnets off, it's you." Wilson chose this moment to start retching again; this time throwing up all over House's carpet. "Oh man," House complained with a scowl.

Cuddy turned her predatory glare back to her infuriating cripple employee. "_You_ can take Wilson home," she decided, causing Chase to frown in protest behind her.

"He doesn't _have_ a _home_," House repeated petulantly. "He has an antipoedean hooker and a penchant for starched sheets."

Chase snorted in annoyance. "We're not shagging!"

Cuddy and House simultaneously turned to look at him, both heads tilted identically in a gesture that suggested they'd forgotten he was even there. _So, what else was new?_ Chase thought. They turned back to each other in a vertically uneven glare, but Cuddy had no issues aiming her anger upwards to House's height and was, in fact, an expert at doing so. It was another ocular showdown, or eye-sex, depending on how good you were at reading body language.

"He doesn't have a home, but _you_ do," Cuddy said smoothly. The nurse arrived behind them with the wheelchair. "Chase, you can go back to groping random patients. House, you can take Wilson home and care for him until the concussion passes. _Yes_, I said _care for him._"

"I have clinic duty!" House protested, looking at Wilson as if she just asked him to personally give Wilson a back, sack, and crack wax, which, in House's opinion, was definitely on par with actual_caring_.

Cuddy nodded succinctly. "You do. Five days worth." She stepped over to the door with a disdainful sniff. "_After_ you take care of Wilson at _your_ home. Chase, you have a patient," she added with authority, holding the door back and waiting for the Aussie to stand. Chase did as demanded and dragged himself out of the office with one final glare at House and a lingering, unreadable look at Wilson.

* * *

House sat down in his worn out recliner and scrutinised Wilson, who was sitting hunched over on the sofa, vomiting loudly into a bucket House had dug out of his hall cupboard. "If you puke on anything that comes under the umbrella of 'Property of House', you can clean it up yourself."

Wilson eased out of his current bout of sickness and wiped his mouth on a damp face cloth – one he had to retrieve from the bathroom _himself_. "I love you, too, House," he said hoarsely, clutching his head as he remained hung over the bucket.

"Bet you're really wishing Cuddy sent you home with Crocodile Dundee, right?" House mused, leaning back and taking a swig of his beer.

Wilson glared weakly at House over the plastic rim, but it came off looking more like a pathetic pained puppy dog look. "You're _punishing_ me because _you_ smacked me in the head with your ball?" he asked in disbelief.

"Nope, I'm punishing you because you have extremely terrible taste in men," House returned. "And you gave yourself the concussion. It wasn't the ball that did it, it was the doorframe. I didn't throw you into that. You just fell stupidly."

Wilson just blinked for a few moments, speechless. "Yes, I make a regular habit of throwing myself into doorframes for kicks. Next time, I'm aiming for a coma. At least then I have a blissfully unconscious period where I don't need to deal with you."

"You love dealing with me. You're my enabler. You also remind me how _not_ to dress on a daily basis," House said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Are you_jealous_ I was seeing Chase?" Wilson finally asked, frowning distinctly at House. "Is that what this is all about? Is that what the stupid bachelor auction was about? Which, by the way, you effectively and spectacularly caused us to break up over, the fact we weren't even actually officially seeing each other aside."

House sniffed. "Not that any of that matters, because _you're shagging him again_," he insisted.

"I'm not!" Wilson cried in exasperation and threw his head back in the bucket again with a loud heave.

House watched him blankly. "Liar. He had that look in his eye."

"What look?" Wilson moaned from the bucket.

"The 'I just shagged Wilson' look," House offered, pointing with his beer bottle.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "And you call yourself an observant genius. He probably just had indigestion, or was trying to evaporate your brain with his eyeballs. He would love that, you know. You to suffer a painful demise."

"No, he wouldn't. He loves me." House swirled the amber liquid around in the bottle of the bottle and then stilled. "You would only know intimate details like that if you were bedding him."

Wilson growled. "What intimate details? Since when is a death threat an intimate detail? Your minions wanting to cause you grievous bodily harm is no secret, House." He placed the bucket on the floor and lay down on his side to curl into a ball with an arm wrapped around his head.

"Some fuck buddy he is. Leaving you alone and pathetic here."

Wilson sighed. "We _broke up_," he groaned. "You got what you wanted. He's barely been in my presence since the morning after the auction."

"It's not my fault he jumped to the completely wrong conclusion and decided I banged you that night. All I wanted was someone to do my dishes. And I said he was welcome to join us," House sniggered. "Speaking of dishes…" His gazed shifted towards the kitchen. "I know how much you enjoy it."

Wilson threw a hand up in the air. "You kissed me! What was he supposed to think?!"

"Filthy minds, the lot of you. You're tainting my purity."

House's pager sounded from his pocket and he set the beer bottle down to wrestle it out of his pocket. Of course, his bottle of Vicodin came out first and he set that securely in his lap before bringing the page up on the small screen. "Our patient's liver is failing," he stated, tossing the pager on the coffee table and picking his beer up again.

Wilson took his arm away from his face and peered at House. "Well? Aren't you going to go?"

"And go against Cuddy's strict orders to _care_ for you? How could I possibly?" House asked with a satisfied smirk.

"All you've done is bitch at me since we got here!" Wilson protested. "Go. I'm fine."

House shook his head. "No, I really think I should stay here," he said infuriatingly. "You might shrivel up from lack of care or something. How are you at making beds?"

The pager buzzed again and with an elaborate show of reaching for it again with a put-out sigh, House received the follow-up page. He scowled. "Damnit."

Wilson quirked an eyebrow. "Let me guess. Cuddy."

"Bite me," House complained, standing up and grabbing his cane. "Don't even think about hooking into my porn stash. I prefer my prospects untouched." With a final glare at Wilson, House left, the door slamming behind him.

Wilson's lips quirked into his own much milder smirk as he calmly pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a now-familiar number.

* * *

House limped calmly into his quiet apartment a few hours later, stethoscope hanging loosely in his free hand. He'd arrived home a few minutes earlier with his keys out ready to admit himself, but soon found Wilson's stethoscope hanging from the knob of his front door. A frown and then a smirk of amusement had him deciding Wilson was trying to be coy and get him back for the episode two years ago when House had kept Wilson outside into the dark of the evening for no particular reason at all. Unlike Wilson, House had no intentions of falling for _that_ one, and continued on his path inside without much of a second thought.

"Wilson?" he called, tossing the stethoscope onto the sofa. No answer. Hnnh. He was sure he left at sulking oncologist with too many anal tendencies on his sofa when he got paged. Damn, if he'd lost Wilson, Cuddy would kill him. Not that that necessarily indicated a _bad_ thing. He'd be happily tortured by her in skin tight leathers and a whip with-

An unusual noise caught his attention, cutting his thoughts off (damnit) and causing him to whip his head around to listen closely. "Wilson?" he tried again, heading up the hall towards his bathroom. He nudged the bathroom door open. "I'm coming in," he warned, not wanting_at all_ to catch Wilson mid-anything Wilson might do in a bathroom. It was empty.

House frowned, catching his confused expression in the bathroom mirror. He could hear more noises from his new location, however, and walked out of the bathroom with more determination. Confused determination, yes, but determination nonetheless.

Once in the hall again, it was evident the noise was coming from the bedroom and he hobbled towards it as quickly as he could. He flung the door open. "Jimmy, what the- _FUCK!_" he veered off into a harsh curse, torn between slapping his hand over his eyes and gaping with interest. In a tangle of arms and legs, starkly naked, and atop his now-crumpled bed sheets, Chase and Wilson were either eating each other alive like Black Widow Spiders or_shagging_ purposefully with matching guttural moans. House wasn't sure what horrified him the most: the fact they were doing it in _his bed_, the fact Chase's arse was far too white for an Aussie, or the fact _Wilson was a bottom_! He opened his mouth but all that came out was a strangled coughing sound as the mid-coital couple stilled, blond and brunette heads turning in the middle of a thrust to gawp at House in surprise.

"Oh, hey, House," Wilson said casually as Chase above him swiped some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Neither man seemed overly affected by House's sudden appearance. House gaped. Chase and Wilson looked back. It was a brief moment of silence, but it seemed like eons before Wilson finally spoke again. "You're welcome to join us," the smug oncologist offered. "At the right price."

As Chase sniggered, his hips already returning to their previous rhythm, House snapped his mouth shut and without another word, turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

_- fin -_


End file.
